


Players Weekend

by redheadgirl



Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: Hijinks & Shenanigans, Team Bonding, padres
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 23:44:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11862123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redheadgirl/pseuds/redheadgirl
Summary: MLB is allowing the players to put nicknames on the back of their jerseys for the first ever players weekend. Mike has an idea and shenanigans ensue.





	Players Weekend

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to silentxsoul, who not only left me a wonderful comment but also let me steal the idea for this story.  
> You're amazing!
> 
> This is a stand alone, but there are a few mentions of past events that are found in my Ginny Tells It Like It Is story.

 

Mike let out an ear-piercing whistle, which brought the clubhouse to an instant silence. He took a couple of seconds to appreciate the rarity of that event before he continued. “Everyone grab a seat.”

There was an instant scramble for the two sofas in the middle of the room. When the dust settled, Salvi, Stubbs and Voorhies sat on the full sized sofa, making the huge piece of furniture seem like a child’s sized chair. Livan was stretched out on the adjacent love seat, and Ginny was sitting on his stomach. The Padres veterans had pulled over their chairs from their lockers and were shaking their heads at the quintet on the furniture.

“You’d think sitting on the sofa was a matter of life and death,” Blip muttered to Butch.

Both men watched as Ginny bounced up and down several times on Duarte’s stomach. “Wait for it…,” Butch warned him.

Sure enough, Lawson reached out and smacked the side of Livan’s leg. “Sit up and get your feet off the sofa,” he told the Cuban before shooting Ginny a look. “Get up before you break his ribs.”

Blip snickered and Butch just shook his head in amused disbelief.

“All right, listen up. Word just came down from MLB that they are going to have a Players Weekend in August. Instead of wearing the standard jerseys, we can design our own jerseys, socks, cleats, and gloves. The cool kids,” he said with a nod towards both Duarte and their bullpen catcher, “can wear whatever they want on their catcher’s mask.”

“Anything,” someone repeated from the back.

Mike sighed and gave the room a look. “Within reason. Do I really have to say that _every_ time?”

“Yes, you really, really do,” was Shrek’s immediate response. The fact that no one disputed his statement only proved his point.

Mike rolled his eyes and let it go. “After much negotiating on our behalf, Tony Clark was able to get MLB to allow us to put our nicknames on the back of our jerseys.”

“All hail Tony Clark,” Salvi called out.

“All hail,” the team repeated back.

“Each player is allowed to choose a nickname to put on his,” he paused to look at Ginny, “or her, jersey.” He scanned the clubhouse. “And once again, let me emphasize the ‘within reason’ part. These names are going to be seen by kids everywhere. And remember that your mom, your wife and/or girlfriend will also be seeing them, so keep that in mind.” That reminder quieted some of the joking that had popped up as soon as he had mentioned nicknames.

“When do we have to turn our names and designs in,” Sonny asked.

“Two weeks. They have to get the jerseys put into production as soon as possible.” Chatter filled the room as players began to bounce possible names off their neighbor. Instead of shouting, Mike just crossed his arms and stared down each player. Silence quickly descended as the chagrinned players looked at their shoes.

“You will also wear a patch on your jersey. On the patch you will write the name of a person that has played a critical role in you making it to the bigs. It can be a parent, a coach, a teacher, or whoever else you think deserves it. A word of advice, though. No matter who you choose, make sure you have a really good reason why you chose them. First, because MLB is going to ask why and second, because the other important people in your life will want to know why you didn’t choose them.”

The players shifted uncomfortably in their seats as they considered the necessity of his advice. Mike cocked an eyebrow at them before shaking his head in amusement. “Guys, you don’t have to decide now. You’ll fill in the patch right before the weekend in August. You have time to come up with excuses.”

“Shit, my parents can’t live in the same country without fighting, let alone share space on a patch,” Javanes moaned.

“Don’t worry, I’ll write you a note explaining why you couldn’t put either of their names on your patch,” Mike offered.

The team chuckled, but Javanes perked up. “You know, that might work. My mom loves you.” Mike grinned.

“Don’t feed his ego,” Ginny scolded Javanes. She turned to Lawson. “Don’t get too cocky, I’m sure you’re a big hit in the over-60 age bracket because you’re all the same age.”

“Ooooo,” the team said in appreciation of her dig. Then they all looked at Mike in anticipation of his response.

Mike shook his head and laughed. “There are some real benefits to the above-25 bracket, Baker.” He nodded his head towards the older veterans. “Ask them. They’ll tell you.” Several of the men agreed loudly and emphatically.

Baker blew out a sigh. “Fine, I’ll bite. What are the benefits of the older ages?”

Lawson gave her a smirk. “I’ll tell you when you’re grown up.”

The team laughed as Ginny’s jaw dropped in disbelief. “You did not just pull that.”

“Is your hearing going? Do you need me to repeat it?” He joined the team’s continued laughter and after a moment, so did she.

He was still smiling when he addressed the team again. “All right kids, enough sharing time. Get your butts out on the field.”

 

***************************************************************************

 

“Word just came down from the commissioner’s office. We won’t get to design our own uniforms. MLB inked agreements with different companies to design and produce them. The color restrictions on cleats, batting gloves and compression sleeves have only been ‘loosened’.”  He paused a moment to allow the groans and gripes to quiet, mostly because he was frustrated at this reversal, too.

His next words addressed both Livan and the bullpen catcher. “In theory, we can now add designs to all of our equipment for the weekend. However, it will have to be approved by the team, then by MLB before we’re allowed to proceed.” The bullpen catcher gave a fatalistic shrug. He had been around the majors long enough to know how it worked. And it’s not like the guy made enough with the Padres to make it an easily justifiable expense anyways.

Duarte made a dismissive sound. “What are the odds they’ll approve my designs,” he asked cynically.

“Not good.” And because Mike was an adult, he left out his comment that he highly doubted that anything Livan designed would be family appropriate anyways. He watched his backup let out a harrumph and slump back into his chair.

“So our orders from MLB are to choose our own nicknames for our jersey. Instead, I think we should choose each other’s nicknames. If we keep it in house, there’s no reason for the commissioner to know any differently. But this is voluntarily, boys and girl. It’s up to you if you want to choose your own, have a teammate choose it, or bypass a nickname at all. There will be players in MLB that will use their last name only.”

The team’s response was instantaneous. Laughter filled the clubhouse as players started calling out suggestions for each other’s jersey.

“Here’s how this is going to happen. Anyone that wants to let the team choose will put their name on a blank piece of paper and hang it in the trainer’s room.” He paused to glare around the room. “I convinced Rita to let us do this. It can’t be anywhere the press can see it, which means either the training room or the bathrooms, and I don’t trust the press to stay out of bathroom. You will all be especially respectful to the trainers and you will do absolutely anything Rita tells you. If she changes her mind, that leaves only the showers and I doubt any of us want to spend a lot of time in there with 24 other ball players.”

“Rita already intimidates the hell of me,” Melky confessed. “This is only going to make it worse.”

“If you want to stay on her good side, don’t be late to PT,” Ginny warned, her voice heavy with irony. “She doesn’t appreciate that.” That brought a round of laughter from the team as they all remembered Ginny’s hard learned lesson.

Mike brought the teams’ attention back to him. “You have four days to write down any ideas you have for nicknames on the lists. On day five, I’ll pull them down and we can vote as a team. I’ll hand it over to Oscar and you’ll find out your chosen name when you see it on the jersey in August.”

“Are you going to put your name on Rita’s wall,” Ginny called out.

Twenty four pair of eyes turned to him, waiting for his response. He scanned the faces and saw hope, amusement, skepticism, and excitement staring back at him. He blew out a sigh. “Yes, I’ll have a paper on the wall, too.” He shook his head. “I must be out of my damn mind,” he muttered.

“Why does it have to be a team decision,” Livan called out.

Mike raised an eyebrow. “Do you want me to make all those decisions?”

Ginny leaned forward in alarm. “No, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she blurted out.

Mike grinned. “Worried, Baker?”

“Heck, yes. If we give you that power, you’ll abuse it shamelessly and then we’ll live in a dictatorship.” The team laughed.

Mike’s mind raced ahead. “Alright, let’s put it into a lottery system. After I pull down the suggestions, everyone that participated will put their name in a hat. You’ll get to pick the nickname of whichever player you draw.” He smirked at Baker. “Of course, it will have to be a secret draw. Otherwise there might be attempts at bribery, and we can’t have that.”

Salvi rubbed his hands together, like a cartoon villain plotting mayhem. “So I get to choose a nickname for one of you fools, and you won’t even know who to blame? Oh yeah, I’m in.”

*************************************************************************

The next four days were chaos. It wasn’t enough to come up with clever nicknames. Oh no, nothing was ever that simple with the Padres. It quickly escalated into a cloak-and-dagger sitcom. By day two, someone had decided that it was imperative to maintain anonymity when suggesting nicknames.  A couple of the guys were working as a team, one person on the lookout while the other scribbled suggestions, but most of team acted like they were the sole secret agent capable of saving the world (or at least PetCo park) and billions of lives depending on their secrecy.

Mike loved it. It was early in the season and the team was still trying to establish its identity. Charlie had made a few questionable moves in the off-season before abruptly resigning for reasons known only to the owners. That left the team struggling to balance a couple of new veterans, several rookies (God help him), and the core group of guys minus the few that left in free agency. They weren’t a power pitching team, that was for certain, nor were they really a power hitting team. That left them in a gray area between ‘small ball’ and ‘who the hell knows what the front office was doing’.  This obsessive need to secretly pick nicknames was a great team building experience, one that was sorely needed. Let them laugh and send texts in secret code and come up with excuses to be the last player to leave the clubhouse. It was all good with him.

At the end of day four, Mike pulled down the papers after a last rush of flurried writing by several players. He hid the pages in Al’s locked filing cabinet (just in case), and dropped a handful of crumbled strips of paper with names on them in a hat. The full team had stayed after the game for the drawing, even those not participating finding the excitement contagious. One by one the players came up and selected a paper. No one would open it in front of the team. Instead, some sat in their chairs with their backs to the wall so no one could come up behind them; some went into adjacent rooms like the kitchen, conference room, equipment room, or the newly created nap room. A few of the idiots went to the bathroom and locked themselves in a stall to guarantee privacy to view their selected names.

“You have 24 hours to meet with me and give me your choice of nicknames,” Mike told them when the laughter had quieted. “If I don’t hear from you before then, I’ll choose for you.”

“Burger!” Lawson’s sudden shout had several players jumping in their seats. “Give that paper back to Stubbs.” Burger’s hand froze a foot away from Stubbs’ back pocket, the paper dangling from his fingers. Stubbs snatched the paper back and gave Burger a smack on the arm.

“Stubbs, enough,” Lawson warned.       

“What about you?” Duarte called out.

“What about me?” Mike returned.

“You’ll know who picked your nickname. That’s not fair.”

Mike raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “That’s not fair?”

“Nope.”

Blip caught Butch’s eye and grinned, knowing what was going to happen. Sure enough, Mike crossed his arms and scowled at Livan. “Whoever told you life was fair lied to you.”

Several of the players hooted in laughter. The Cuban bristled and Ginny quickly interrupted to avoid a potential argument. “How about a few of us, including the person with your name, meet with Blip? That way you won’t know who has it or what they chose. That seems easy, right?”

Mike shook his head in exasperation. “Fine, Baker. You, the person that got my name, and some other player can turn their papers into Blip. Everyone else, including the person that has Blip’s nickname, will turn your names into me.”

“Does the person that chooses the funniest nickname get a prize,” Shrek called out.

Mike rolled his eyes so hard they nearly got stuck in his head. “Do we really need to make this a contest with a prize? What are you, five?”

“Well, Melky is almost five, so we need to make this exciting for him.”

Melky threw a dirty sock at Shrek and the room broke into laughter.

“Every last one of you is a pain in my ass.” He gave in with a snort when the room erupted with objections. “Alright Shrek, after the names are released in the beginning of August we’ll have a team vote. You won’t be allowed to vote for your own choice, so that way it’s ‘fair’.” He raised his eyebrow at Livan. Livan gave an insolent shrug in response to the barb, completely uninterested now that he had gotten his way.

“Alright, your 24 hours start now.”

“First,” Stubbs shouted, immediately springing to his feet.

“Second,” two players called out in unison. When an argument nearly broke out, Lawson let out a sharp whistle.

“Jesus guys, it doesn’t matter what order you go in!” His tone of voice was hard and his patience was obviously gone for the whole mess.

“Sorry,” several players muttered, whether they had been in the argument or not.

“I’ll be here for half an hour. If you can’t get it to me in thirty minutes you’ll have to wait until tomorrow,” Mike told them before walking towards the trainer’s room. If they wanted to annoy him, they’d have to do it while he iced his shoulder.

“I’m getting to old for this shit,” he muttered to himself as he walked past Al’s office. The sound of the skipper’s laugh followed him down the hall.

 

********************************************************************************

 

If anyone on the team had even a fleeting thought that the team would forget about the nickname contest, they were quickly proven incorrect. Over the next four months, the topic would come up regularly. It never failed, at least once a week some player would blurt out a new nickname for a teammate, and then loudly bemoan the fact that they couldn’t submit that new name because, of course, it was the best name ever.

It didn’t escape Mike’s notice that some sort of backroom dealing occasionally occurred and it didn’t take much effort to realize it was tied to the contest. Baker carried Salvi’s luggage for an entire roadtrip, although she emphatically denied it when Mike confronted her. Salvi just gave a shrug when asked, but his guilty expression told Mike all he needed to know. And no one was fooled when Hanan tried to convince everyone that he had always called Sonny “Sir Evers the Great”.

Mike had sat down with Al and Oscar and confessed that the players hadn’t chosen their own names, as dictated by MLB. To his relief both Oscar and Al fully supported his decision, Al because it brought the team together and Oscar because it wasn’t that long ago he was a player and he would have loved doing that. Of course, the fact that the Padres were in the thick of the Wild Card race made everyone eager to keep alive whatever magic was propelling a team that was, by all accounts, only slightly above average.

The night before MLB began their jersey release to the public, the team gathered for the much-anticipated reveal party at Mike’s place. Mike had provided the pizza and soda and reminded the team that they had a day game coming up, so it might be a good idea to pass on the alcohol. Blip showed up with a mountain of water bottles and 28 rolls of paper towels and both men were hopeful that it would be an easy, laid back get together.

And then Ginny showed up with party horns and silly string and Sonny brought candy. He literally brought 15 pounds of every candy known to mankind. Mike immediately grabbed the man’s wallet while Sonny’s arms were still full of candy and confiscated his CostCo card.

“You can get it back once you learn to handle it responsibly,” Mike told him.

Omar, Stubbs, Livan, and Shrek all brought liquor and Butch brought an entire keg of his favorite beer.

“Come on Mike,” Butch chided as he shoved his way through the team to get to the kitchen. “You knew everyone was going to bring booze and junk food. I don’t want to drink most of the crap these guys call beer, so I brought my own.” Butch looked around the kitchen. “Where can I hide this so the boys don’t empty it in 10 minutes?”

“Are you really trying to hide a keg,” Mike asked in disbelief.

“Hell yes, I am. And if you want to drink any of my beer you better come up with a damn good spot,” Butch warned. Mike acknowledged the wisdom of Butch’s warning, and quickly rearranged some furniture on the pool deck to conceal the keg. Eventually one of the players would figure it out and blab the location, but it should get the two men at least a few cups before then.

“Lawson, someone wants in your gate,” Duarte called out.

“Who is it,” Mike called back as he walked into his sprawling living room.

Livan didn’t look up from his phone. “How would I know? I didn’t answer it.”

Mike slapped Livan’s leg has he walked around him. “What did I tell you about putting your shoes on my furniture?” Livan grumbled but obediently took his feet off the coffee table.

“Baker! Quit blowing on that damn horn! Melky and Omar, didn’t you hear me tell her to stop? I can’t hear the intercom.”

“It’s like herding chickens,” Blip told Butch. “Is this what it’s like to have teenagers?”

“No. This is much easier than having teenagers.”

Blip looked around the room at the chaos. “Shit. How is that even possible?”

Twenty pizzas, fifteen pounds of candy, one keg and four cases of beer, and unknown quantities of soda and liquor were consumed faster than should be humanly possible, even for twenty-five adult athletes. The team was sprawled around the room, sitting on the furniture, the floor and a pool chair some idiot had dragged in, all of them laughing and goofing off.

This time, Mike didn’t have to whistle for their attention. Every time he or Blip had walked into the living room, twenty-four pairs of eyes had focused on them in anticipation, so they were more or less silent by the time he dropped a box in the middle of the room.

“Alright you mooks, it’s the moment we’ve all been waiting for.” He opened the box and pulled out a jersey to hold it up. “This is the color scheme the powers-that-be chose for our jerseys.”

“That’s ugly,” Livan bluntly told them.

“They’re not that bad,” Mike felt obligated to defend.

“Yes they are,” both Blip and Baker said at the same time.

“I’m going to need to wear sunglasses to look at them in the sunlight. Why did they go with neon  yellow,” Butch called out, squinting for effect.

“Fine, they’re ugly,” Mike conceded. “Who cares, we’ve had worse. Now, Al put these jerseys in the box so I haven’t seen my jersey.” He raised an eyebrow at Livan. “Just to be fair.” Livan just rolled his eyes and took a drink of beer.

“Without further ado, here are the jerseys.” He tossed out the ones to few players that had gone with their last name, either out of choice or because they truly didn’t have a nickname. Then he held a jersey aloft and paused dramatically.

“Come on, Lawson, hurry up,” Ginny called out, literally bouncing on her knees with excitement.

Mike turned the jersey around to face the team, showing the name CASSIDY in bright yellow letters across the back. “We now have our own Butch Cassidy,” he called out as he tossed the jersey to the veteran. “And a SONNDANCE KID,” he continued as he threw the second jersey at Sonny. Mike chose to ignore Livan’s comment that they misspelled sun, instead letting Baker explain it to him.

He continued to toss jerseys to the players, having to raise his voice until he was shouting to be heard over the laughter. “Burger, you’ll now be the HAMBURGLAR.” The reliever groaned and Mike shook his head as the team laughed. “I know, not one of the best.”

“Melky, you’re BOND. As in James Bond. It seems you took the need for anonymous nickname suggestions to a whole new level. And by the way, the security guard was ready to arrest you when you snuck into the clubhouse at 2:30 in the morning. I saved your ass.” Mike arched an eyebrow at Melky’s sheepish smile before moving on.

“Hanan, you’re HAN THE MAN. Javanes, you’re LIL JANKY. I’m really interested to hear the story behind that one.” Javanes pressed his lips together and refused to say anything, despite the team’s best efforts to get him to confess.

“Shrek, here’s a shocker, you’re SHREK. Voohries, you’re VO-RO.”

Both men looked annoyed. Shrek leaned forward in his chair to glare at his teammates. “None of you could think of anything different? Really? Which one of you can I blame for this?”

“Not my fault,” Salvi objected. “I suggested something great.”

“He suggested something awful. You should be damn grateful that your player didn’t use his suggestion,” Blip interjected.

“Who cares? Your jersey says Shrek because your name is Shrek. You’re fine. Now hush, I want to see the rest of the names,” Ginny told him.

“I care,” Shrek began before Mike interrupted the budding argument.

“Alright Salvi, here’s yours.” He flipped it around so the team could read it themselves and the room instantly filled with laughter. The huge grin on Salvi’s face was full of the smug male satisfaction that came from the recent news that his wife was expecting twins. Mike knew that Blip had picked Salvi’s nickname and he had chosen BIG DADDY, probably as a ‘welcome to the twins club’ type of thing. Mike gave a silent shudder and thought that maybe You Poor Sucker would have been more appropriate.

Mike scanned the room. Livan was pretending not to pay any attention as he played on his phone, but Mike could see that his phone screen was dark. Salvi was still smirking. Many of the players were leaning forward in their seats in anticipation and Baker was still kneeling, too excited to actually sit still. Shrek was slumped in his chair as close to sulking as a big man can get, while Voohries looked disappointed and like he was feeling a little unloved. Mike’s eyes flicked to Ginny and she caught his silent message. She leaned over and threw a casual arm around his shoulders.

“I’m jealous. You get to keep your nickname. It’s like the team didn’t even want to mess with you. You and I both know that I’m gonna catch shit on this. The last time I looked, someone had actually flipped the paper so they could write more names on the back of my page.”

Voohries gave her a deadpan look. “That’s what happens when you go in to read the paper every ten minutes. It’s like waving a red flag in front of a bull. We all had to keep adding names to the list then. Plus we had a bet on how often you would check you list in a one hour span.” He dropped the act and laughed. “I won $50 when you checked eight times in one hour.”

Ginny gave a gasp and dropped her arm from his shoulders. “You bet on me? You’re a jerk. All of you are jerks,” she told her laughing teammates.

“I’m the jerk that used that money to buy the beer you’ve been drinking all night,” he retorted.

Ginny thought for a second. “Okay, I take it back. You’re not a jerk,” she conceded with a nod before turning to face the room. “The rest of you are, though.”

“Omar,” Mike called out, bringing all eyes back to him. “You’re O-ROB.” Omar let out an audible sigh of relief, and no one really blamed him for being nervous although they all gave him grief for not trusting his teammates.

“It’s because I know you all that I don’t trust you,” Omar told them. There was a moment of stunned silence as the team gaped at the normally quiet man before they all called out opinions on who could and could not be trusted on the team. After fifteen seconds it was apparent that only person deemed trustworthy by all was Rita and the usher in the section above the bullpen.

“Hey! If you all don’t shut up, I’ll pack up the rest of the jerseys and you can see them online tomorrow with the rest of the world.” Mike was losing his patience. He needed to ice his knees and his back. Plus, he was tired damn it and he wanted these fools gone so he could go to bed. He was too old to run on three hours of sleep.

There was instant silence. Even Baker quit bouncing up and down on her knees and Livan actually gave up the act and put his phone on the coffee table. Once Mike was assured of their attention he pulled out one of the last jerseys. “Here we have one for BLIP BLOP.” Blip laughed as he accepted the jersey from Mike.

“And Livan, for you we have…” he paused.

“Come on, Lawson,” the Cuban snapped from the sofa. “Enough with the drama. Some of us have places to be.”

Ginny reached out and smacked Livan's arm without taking her eyes off of the jersey. Mike turned the jersey around to show the back. He didn’t have to say a word. The entire team could read the block letters on the back. It said BACK UP.

Livan took it better than Mike and Blip had expected. He rolled his eyes and huffed out a breath but he settled back against the sofa with no other reaction. In fact, he took it so well that Mike sent him a suspicious look. There was no way the guy was going to accept the nickname so easily and Mike made a mental note to keep a close eye on him.

“And here’s what we’ve all been waiting for. The one and only Ginny Baker and her much worried about jersey.” He was going to continue to drag it out but when he looked at her, instead of finding the expected excitement, he saw anxiety and even…dread. As he shared a brief glance with Blip, he realized that she wasn’t as confident in her acceptance by the team as she pretended she was. She still had that seed of distrust that had been planted during her time in the minors, the one that made completely trusting her teammates nearly impossible.

“I know we had all expected her name to be G-Rose. I certainly did,” Mike said. “But the person went in an unexpected direction. May I present,” he flipped the jersey around. “QUEEN G”.

Ginny’s jaw dropped open in shock. She blinked rapidly at the jersey like she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. The team laughed and teased her until her surprise transformed into laughter. “You guys are great. Thank you to whoever didn’t put something God awful on the back of my jersey.”

“Now we’ve had this discussion, Genevieve Rose. There’s nothing wrong with being called G-Rose,” Salvi reminded her.

“I've changed my mind. You guys are jerks after all.”

“Hey, where’s Lawson’s,” Livan called out.

“Yeah, that’s the one we all really wanted to see,” Ginny piped in.

Mike gestured to Blip with a flick of his wrist. Blip reached into the box and pulled out a small, sealed box. “Al double taped it just to be safe,” Blip explained as he sawed through the packing tape with a pair of scissors. Several players pulled out Swiss Army knives and one reliever pulled out a folding knife that might not have been legal to own in California, earning a scowl from Mike and appreciation from two rookies.

“And my fellow teammates, I present my vote for best team nickname. May I present future Hall of Fame catcher Mike Lawson wearing a jersey saying…”

His words were completely drowned out by the team’s roars of laughter and shouts of agreement.

Mike’s jersey said TEAM DAD.

 

******************************************************************************

 

There wasn’t any need for a vote. It was universally agreed that Lawson’s nickname was the winner. And as her reward, Ginny insisted the team rise and say “All hail the Queen,” when she entered a room, left a room, and whenever else she deemed appropriate.


End file.
